I'm a celebrity, get me there

You never see the stars queuing at check-in or struggling with luggage at the carousel. Sophie Campbell tells you how they have it all done for them.

Celebrity

12:01AM GMT 13 Mar 2004

The trouble with people who work with celebrities is that discretion is their livelihood. They inhabit a shadowy world of euphemism ("young American artist, female, not Britney"; "rock band, big in the Sixties, on tour now"; "British actor, floppy hair, huge in Hollywood"). It's like interviewing a bed of clams.

To avoid this problem - and any possible litigation - imagine that you are Giddy Rasclat, the new King of Bling, the Grammy-winning 18-year-old urban/R & B sensation with a certified double-platinum debut album. You are big. Huge, in fact (though not as huge as your bodyguards, known in the trade as your close-protection specialists). Having conquered the United States, you are on your way back to Deptford.

So how do you do it? Get back to Deptford, I mean. Do you fly first class or business? Do you queue to check in? Do the man-mountains fly with you, or at the back? Can you fit a close-protection specialist in an economy seat? Who meets you at the airport? How do you avoid/embrace (delete as applicable) your fans? Will your hotel let you bathe in warm Dom Perignon and throw your television out of the window? And if so, who pays?

"It's a highly organised, well-oiled machine," explains Peter MacCann, general manager of the Merrion Hotel in Dublin, which regularly plays host to celebrity guests. "There are entire companies dedicated to meet and greet, and there's an industry built around these celebrities and their travel arrangements. The first contact for us is nearly always via a specialist travel agency - they might not even tell us the artist's name at first."

One such agency is Travel By Appointment, which specialises in the music industry. "If you want to chuck your telly into the hotel pool, you can," says Andy Hampshaw, the business development director. "But for a £500 TV the hotel will bill us £600, we bill the recording company £700, they bill the managing agent £800 and the artist then has £1,000 deducted from royalties. You want the rock'n'roll lifestyle? You pay for it."

When Take That were at the height of their fame, he used to book them in under false names with several different hotels, only choosing at the last minute. "You only do it with hotels you know well - they know they'll get business from you another time. The fans are clever; they find out within hours. That's why big names stay in one place for only three or four days at a time."

An up-and-coming star such as Giddy would be travelling with a large entourage - perhaps hoping to emulate the rapper P Diddy, who (as Puff Daddy) booked 30 rooms as well as his own suite at the Merrion for the MTV Awards in Dublin - and everyone in the industry knows the hierarchy. At the top are the principal artist and party (managing agent, PA, friends, relatives), followed by the band party (backing musicians, guitar technicians, etc) and then the crew (drivers, caterers and so on). Make-up artists and stylists float uneasily between the top two, which can lead to unseemly clashes of ego.

Companies such as Strand Travel, which moves models around the world and works with most of the top agencies and magazines in London, and The Travel Company, which specialises in the film business, transporting everyone from big-name actors to cameramen and costume designers, would recognise similar pecking orders in their industries. They deal with everything from the charges for overweight baggage (all those shoes for a fashion shoot) to ordering a model's favourite soap.

Michele Bibby, operations director of The Travel Company, whose credits include Brad Pitt's new film Troy, the first two Harry Potter films and The Mummy series, explains how it works: "On a big movie the celebrity actors, director and producers will travel first class; B actors and crew will travel business class, depending on their contracts; and entourages will fly at the same time, but not in first."

How the whole lot travels depends on the star's status. A real A-lister - there are currently about 10 artists of this category in the world - will own a private jet. The rest hire. "The thing about hiring your own plane is that you won't be troubled on board," says Bibby. "You travel out of a general aviation terminal [or GAT] - a private terminal attached to the main airport - which has its own facilities. If you're going from a small airport, the car can be driven right up to the aircraft. We can arrange pre-clearance [when Immigration and Customs & Excise officials check your details in advance]. You pay for the privilege, of course."

Less stellar beings, still reeling from the loss of Concorde, will fly first class (oh the pain), graduating to a jet or sliding down to business in direct relation to their career trajectory. On the way up, they are indulged; on the way down, they are charged. It's brutal.

The reason we proles rarely see them is that companies such as Diamond Air - a meet-and-greet specialist with agents in 200 airports worldwide - are there to smooth their passage through the real world. It works like this: the chauffeur of Giddy's smoke-windowed limo calls ahead as it glides into the airport, the Diamond Air agent (who is cleared by airport security) pops up, whisks away Giddy's documents and floats him through Departures to a check-in desk where he is processed instantly. "Our clients don't do queues," says Christina Lawford, Diamond Air's managing director. This is of benefit to us all: imagine the delays if Giddy had to put his jewellery through the metal detector with the rest of us.

British Airways has a "special services" department - 40-strong at Heathrow, with smaller teams at Gatwick, Birmingham, Manchester and Paris - that deals with VIP travellers. Its staff can speed progress through an airport for a tight connection, or arrange access to special private areas in first-class lounges, but nobody avoids conventional check-in procedures.

In Britain, there is no such thing as "kerbside check-in", which in the United States spares celebrities from even leaving the car. Here, only A-listers travelling in large groups - the England rugby team comes to mind - have bespoke check-in, and mainly for logistical reasons. When the England team went through Heathrow on their way to Australia, with a party of about 40, special desks were set up to one side of the terminal.

Anyway, Giddy is then steered into one of the unromantically named "pay-as-you-go" VIP lounges run by private companies. These can cost anything from £50 an hour for a bit of peace and quiet to £1,000 an hour for Champagne on tap for the principal party. While other passengers shuffle through the dismal process of boarding, he can put his trainers up on the nearest seat for an extra 20 minutes.

"Nine times out of 10, the stars will be boarded last, which gives them more time in the lounge,"says Lawford. "Someone then goes to collect them and deliver them to the aircraft. Of course, if they're sitting upstairs they may prefer to go first, so they are seen as little as possible."

As for the close-protection specialists, they generally fly business class. "If we can't get them an upgrade to first, we'll try to get them into the front row - you know, just behind the curtain. There's a lot of organisation involved."

Blimey, there is. Andy Hampshaw explains that when bodyguards have to go in economy - yes, I know it's awful, but these are hard times in the recording industry, what with cheap CDs and free downloads - his team has to have the airline remove the seat arms or reserve two seats. Not to mention arranging reinforced beds at the hotels (really).

On Giddy's arrival at Heathrow the same process happens in reverse: meet, greet, lounge, immigration, kerbside limo, hotel. However, being up-and-coming, Giddy probably needs press coverage - rather than a reputation as a weird recluse - so his PR will have tipped off one of Heathrow's photographers.

"Sometimes the PRs ring when they want the publicity," says Russell Clisby, who has been shooting stars airside for The Daily Telegraph for 24 years. "But really it's a case of working hard and watching. We know they're on tour and where they're coming from, so we watch the flights and wait."

There are good 'uns and bad 'uns. "Beyonce came in and she was a really nice girl. Her bodyguard must have been 25 stone. We didn't hassle, so she said, 'I'll get the PR to call when we come back', and she did. Whereas Christina Aguilera, we couldn't get near her. She's a pain in the backside; she didn't want to know."

He adds that if most celebrities slipped through passport control in a hat and dark glasses, nobody would notice, but that 6ft 5in bodyguards are a dead giveaway. Which is, of course, the point.

The four full-time "resident photographers" have to live within 20 minutes of Heathrow and have full security clearance, which includes the Royal Suite out on the airfield, so they got the first pictures of George W Bush coming down the steps of Air Force One. It's worth mentioning here that royals, top politicians and state visitors do not hot-lounge it with people like Giddy. They travel in "a sterile environment" (fully security cleared) and bypass normal facilities altogether. There are some things that money can't buy.

If you do happen to be a prince or a prime minister, you will be looked after by Anita Newcourt, manager of special facilities for British Airports Authority (BAA) Heathrow, and now a celebrity herself thanks to the television programme Airport. She runs four VIP suites, including the Royal Suite. They are funded by the state and would be a grave disappointment to any self-respecting celeb.

"I wish I could say they were luxurious," she explains, "but they're not. There are no piles of Ferrero Rocher chocolates because it's taxpayers' money. They get tea, coffee, juice and biscuits. Oh, and television and newspapers."

They can't even nip into duty-free, because they've missed the shops. On the other hand, if Customs & Excise gives permission, they can leave a flunkey to wait for their bags and go straight to their hotel.

Back in celebrity world, the choice of hotel is important. It could mean the difference between being mobbed or not. Take the Lanesborough in London, which has two entrances and therefore welcomes a lot of celebrity guests. Giddy's stretch would be directed to the Grosvenor Crescent entrance, at the back of the hotel, which has a special entourage-sized driveway and covered doorway. This keeps the fans from cluttering up the front door and the paparazzi from irritating other, less famous, guests.

While he draws the line at bodyguards standing outside doors all night (unless the celebrity has booked an entire wing, "which is not that unusual"), Geoffrey Gelardi, managing director of the Lanesborough, is quick to join other hoteliers in playing down the antics of celebrity visitors. "It depends on their personalities. Some love a fuss. Others just like good service. We're here to supply whatever fuss they want."

Oh, go on. What about all the diva demands? I mean, Travel By Appointment had one guy who insisted on having an aquarium in his room before he could sleep. And we all know that Jennifer Lopez is meant to be tricky. "We've had rooms redecorated by outside companies for guests," he says. "One guest didn't like his curtains, so we changed them. Some bring their own chefs, who are cleared to use our kitchens. People ask for fitness equipment in their rooms."

Oh. Well, what about the money? Do celebrity guests pay full whack? Do they get upgraded to better seats or rooms? And here Mr Gelardi joins all the hoteliers, airline personnel, meeters and greeters interviewed for this article to form a seamless wall of discretion. Depends. . . case-by-case basis. . . time of year. . . so many variables. . . we try to be fair. . . mostly they pay full rate . . . That was the gist.

"Look," says Peter MacCann of the Merrion, "if they're coming for four nights and bringing 40 people, you're not going to split hairs about the price of the main suite. But by and large, they pay for everything."

Finally, after a night of luxury at the Lanesborough, Giddy heads home for a hero's welcome. The tens of thousands of pounds he has spent on top-class travel for himself and his entourage will be lopped off his royalties, he hasn't chucked so much as a remote control out of the window and if his career goes on a wobble, he'll be back in economy seats and twin rooms at the Travelodge quicker than you can say "upgrade".

So next time you're standing in the security queue, having your tweezers confiscated and wishing you were in first class, cheer up. It could be worse. You could be a celebrity.